


For peace in our time.

by TayBartlett9000



Category: Historical RPF, Political RPF, Yes Minister
Genre: 1938, Appeasement, Britain, Civil Service, Crisis, Czechoslovakia, Europe, Gen, Germany, Government, History, Munich - Freeform, Peace, Politics, War, World War 2, historical a u
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-23 17:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16623623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: It is September in the year  1938  and Bernard Woolley is struggling through his job as a civil servant to the prime minister Neville Chamberlain. Adolf Hitler is  threatening a forced take-over of Czechoslovakia and he and sir Humphrey are on hand to try and pull Britain through the  appeasement  talks with Hitler. But Bernard has a  feeling that this task is going  to be much harder than he had previously anticipated. The life of a civil servant, apparently, is not at all an easy one.





	1. Chapter one: Bernard.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction and any conversations between the civil servants concerning real politicians are not meant to reflect the opinions of the author.

15 September, 1938.

“I mean, for goodness sake. Everyone with a brain cell must know what those Germans are planning. The newspapers know all-too well. I can’t see why our  prime minister doesn’t.” 

Bernard had to admit that he had to agree, and yet as the man facing him talked him through what seemed to be the entirety of his thoughts on Hitler and his Nazi party, he   knew that he was in no position to argue the point. The man knew who he was and who he worked for. Everyone sitting in this restaurant did. Bernard sat in the chair beside the window and thought, not for the first time, that a promising career working as a civil servant may not have been the wisest choice to make.

The afternoon sunlight had long since faded, the sky now resembling a single piece of flat  grey slate. A thin sheet of rain was snaking down from the clouds and settling like a  second living skin over Westminster. Through the thick, almost opake glass of the  restaurant window, Bernard could dimly see large clusters of people moving up and down the streets in what appeared to be too hurried a manner. He could not see the looks on the faces of anyone rushing past, but he didn’t need to. Bernard knew all-too well what the  population of Westminster was possibly thinking. He was thinking it himself.

“Bernard, are you listening?”

Bernard Woolley dragged his concerned mind out of his  contemplative reverie and glanced across at the man sitting opposite him. His gaze seemed fixed on Bernard with what looked to him to be  an expression of mounting mistrust.  It was an expression that Bernard found unsettling. The mistrust of the British community seemed to be mounting daily and now that lack of faith seemed to be aimed squarely at him, a man who liked to think that he was a person who could be trusted  by everyone  he met. He supposed that his profession erned him that lack of faith. Everyone seemed to have lost all trust in the government these days. Though he hated to admit it, Bernard didn’t think that he could blame them.   

“Sorry,” he said huridly, scrambling  for the meaning of their conversation and not finding it, “what are you saying? Sorry.”

His companion sighed with  impatience. “I was saying that the prime minister should  bloody hurry up with the  whole issue over the Czech crisis. Have you heard anything? Is he planning anything?”

Shaking his head   in as polite a manner as he could, Bernard frowned. “You know I can’t tell you anything about what Mr Chamberlain is planning to do about the Czech crisis,” he said gently, feeling more and more  put upon with every second that passed, “but I can tell you that the entirety of Whitehall wants to do something. Plenty of us have ideas.”

His companion wasn’t much  mollified. “Oh?” he asked with sudden curtness, “like  what?  What are you planning?”

Bernard sighed and again shook his head. He was going to have to be patient with this man. He  couldn’t be expected to understand the complexities of life working as a civil servant, despite the fact that persuing political truth was this man’s job.  “I told you, I can’t say,” he replied calmly, “all I can tell you is  that we in the  government do have plans for dealing with  Hitler and the Czechs, but I can’t  reveal what those plans are at the moment. The pm will inform  everyone when the time is right. That’s all I can say.” He was glad that his level voice   betrayed none of his rising irritation.

His companion was not at all amused by this noncommittal response  and said, “you governmental types, completely unwilling to  give  anyone any information.” He paused, then added in a manner that was evidently  intended to wound, “Winston has been pretty open about his own ideas. And I  agree with him. He says that we should strike at Germany while we have the chance. He  has the right idea. I’m  telling you. He seems to have a better idea of how to handle Hitler than  the people in power at the moment.”

Bernard sat   in silence, allowing the man to continue in his inraged rant. He ignored the  obvious slurs in his companion’s  one sided conversation and forced  himself not to wince in distaste for the PM’s rival, Winston  Churchill, a man who had been a thorn in the government’s side for  too long a time. ‘Remain impassive, Bernard,’ he told  himself, ‘remain impassive. Don’t tell this man anything.’ He picked up the coffee cup that rested upon the table in front of him and  raised it to his lips,  tasting the dregs of cold coffee on his tongue and pulling a face at  its bitterness.  He disengaged partially with  his companion’s rant, listening to his angry words with only half  an ear. He heard the words ‘Czech crisis,’ ‘Hitler’ and  ‘unwillingness to inform the public of the truth, ’ and he  surreptitiously glanced down at his watch. Five p.m. Good. For once  since the Czech crisis had become a source of  discomfort for Neville Chamberlain’s government, Bernard was glad to be able to get back to work.  Papers awaited his perusal. Sir Humphrey waited for his opinion and the government had  no time to waste  allowing its civil servants to be lounging around  drinking cold coffee.

Rising to his feet and offering his companion a pleasant smile, Bernard made his excuses. “Sorry. I’m needed back at the office.”

He left the restaurant as fast as he could without appearing to run and stepped out into the lashing rain, pulling his coat a little tighter about his  shoulders in an attempt to protect his thin frame from the chill wind that blew across Britain. It  seemed that the very  heavens were protesting over  the complications of  Europe and the   major powers’ apparent inability  to bring about a satisfactory end to the crisis and as he began to make his way across to the doors of  Number 10, Bernard scowled at the ground. As if  anyone could have forseen what had  happened with regards to Germany and Czechoslovakia. People such as Winston Churchill could have told  anyone who would listen of his own    dyer certainties that such an event would come about, but that was all nonsense. Surely.

The Czech crisis had  been playing so much on Bernard’s mind of late. The  issue had kept him awake  for hours, long into the night as he debated the rights and wrongs of a potential take-over of the country by  Hitler and the Nazis. Certainly,  there were many Czechs throughout the country of Czechoslovakia  who wished again to be reunited with Germany. Certainly, these Czechs would  more than welcome  Hitlers’ forced take-over of the country that  did consist of a vast amount of German speaking people. But was allowing  Hitler to walk into  Czechoslovakia a positive move? Bernard had to admit that he didn’t think so. The  prime  Minister had strongly intimated to Sir  Humphrey and other members of his cabinet that appeasing Hitler  was the best action Britain could take and many of his ministers agreed with him. But as Bernard made his way up the steps of Number 10 and walked quickly inside, he  wasn’t sure if he agreed with Chamberlain’s appeasement plans.

Number 10  was a hive of activity as Bernard entered, eyes scanning the room  and alighting upon the tall figure of Sir Humphrey Appleby, who beckoned him over as soon as  their eyes met across the  crowded room. Bernard wasted no time before    hastening  to the older man’s side, ignoring the quiet murmurs of ‘good afternoon Mr Woolley.’ He kept his eyes focused on the face of the pm’s perminant secretary who was wearing the sort of grim expression that never failed to cause a stone of dread to sink into the very pit of Bernard’s stomach. That look meant that Sir Humphrey was about to impart some most unwelcome information and as Bernard paused at the man’s side, he dreaded what he was about to say. 

“Good evening, Bernard,” Sir Humphrey said quietly, beckoning for the men  to leave this  overcrowded space, “I hope you enjoyed your coffee break.”

Bernard followed Sir Humphrey   out of  the bustling   lobby and into  a thickly carpeted, dimly lit  office  lined with shelves  containing books and cabinet papers. Sir Humphrey took a seat at the only desc in the room and jestured for Bernard to do the same. This he did.

 The two men sat in silence for a while before Sir Humphrey said calmly, “how did your talk with Mr Wattson go? I assume he asked you to inform him of the Pm’s ideas about the Czech crisis.”

Bernard nodded. Sir Humphrey of course did not need him to offer a blow by blow account of his conversation with the man whom  he had met in the restaurant. Everyone knew who Mr Wattson was, and  most  of the people who knew  him wished that they didn’t. Wattson, as london’s most egregious journalists,  had managed to  create a  rather complicated reputation for himself. “Yes, he did,” he replied with a  heavy sigh, “and he didn’t seem to be very happy with what I told him either.”

Sir Humphrey fixed Bernard with a stern eye and said in a warning voice, “you didn’t tell him anything that could damage Mr Chamberlain’s government, did you?”

“Oh no sir Humphrey,” Bernard replied in a rush, “I told him that the PM does have plans but I am not at liberty to disclose what those plans are. A pretty textbook answer I thought. I mean, the newspapers can’t make anything out of that. Can they?” Even as he spoke, Bernard felt a knot of rising tention tighten in his stomach. He knew the answer to that question.

Sir Humphrey appeared to be thinking along the same pessimistic lines as himself. “The newspapers can make anything out of anything, Bernard,” he said with a hint of disapproval, “surely as a civil servant you are aware of this bye now. But never mind. You said precisely what I would have said. Say nothing of any importance  to these   journalists Bernard. That is the   general rule of politics.”

Bernard could think of nothing to do but smile and nod.  Humphrey was right of course. In his experience, Sir Humphrey  Appleby was  right about most things. A career spent playing the intricate game of politics prepared a man for such crises as the one they were all facing now he supposed.    He could only hope that the rest of what he hoped would be a long career in the political sphere would not  prove to be an echoe of this very event. He hoped also that the    Czech problem would  soon be a mere  memory,  all be it a grim and depressing one.

Sir Humphrey it  seemed had better things to think about than the dark musings of the possible future. “The PM wishes to see  everyone in the cabinet room this evening at eight,” he said smoothly as if he dealt with  large scale European  issues every day  of his life, “and I think he  wishes to hear our thoughts on whether or not we should  encourage Czechoslovakia to  surrender to the Germans. Luckily, Winston won’t be in attendance this time so we don’t have to worry about anything   unseemly happening.  Bloody good  thing to if you ask me.  The poor PM’s had to deal with too much of that man’s waffling already.”

Bernard nodded in complete sympathy. “Mr Wattson brought up Winston  during our interview,”  he said in a would be casual  voice, “he was trying to  provoke me into giving him a response, I think.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said nothing  as always, Sir Humphrey.”

“Very good.  Again,  precisely what I would have done. Good job Bernard. We don’t want to much trouble with  Churchill, do we.”  He looked down at his watch then back at Bernard who stifled a yawn behind his hand. “I think we have time for something to eat before the PM wants us in the cabinet room. Coming,  Bernard?”

Rising again  and thinking privately that what he really wanted  was a decent few hours of uninterrupted sleep, Bernard nodded and  followed Sir Humphrey obediently out of the room. He stifled another yawn and  tried to shrug off  the heavy mantle of his increasing tiredness. Just one more meting in the cabinet  room and then he would be able to get out of Number 10 and go home. In normal circomstances, the empty London  house that Bernard occupied alone would have been a source of slight discomfort to him. But  tonight, it seemed  to be more of  a blessing.


	2. Chapter two: Marian.

15 September, 1938.

The  gloom of the early evening settled over London like  a black shroud. Up and down every street, the lamps were lit and the whole city came alive with a very different energy. London at night was and had always been a spectacle. In normal circomstances, that is. On this night, the very city seemed to tremble with anticipation and as Marian walked swiftly from Westminster to the house that she called home, she could feel that nervous expectancy weighing heavily upon her own slender shoulders.

Marian lifted a hand, pressing it to her temples and wincing with pain. The head-ache that had been growing increasingly worse throughout the day was slowly building and it was becoming difficult to bare. But she had to keep up the pace. Marian was desperate to get home. A long day spent hunched over telegrams from everyone  from the president of France to the vice chanceler of the  Nazi party was doing wonders  for  Marian’s sense of frayed nerves. As one of Prime Minister Chamberlain’s secretaries, it fell to her to look at and type out ministerial  addresses, telegrams and notes from the various sectors of government.

 A job that had seemed full of glittering promise was now  fading. She knew all-too well what the Germans were planning. Though  she could not admit it to her  colleagues, Marian  was becoming aware of a lerking sense of fear. War was around the corner. She knew it, and  the people she felt for were not the government or Neville Chamberlain’s supporters, but the young men in her family who seemed to be getting caught up in the glorious idea of a possible war with Germany.

She approached the front door of her house and looked up at the kitchen window, smiling to see a glimmer of golden light beyond those pains of glass. They were waiting for her then.

 Pushing  the door open and stepping inside, Marian’s first impression was of a  warmth that in normal situations, would  have been more than enough to chase the  doubts and worries from her mind.  The low sounds of the wireless filtered through from the living area as she made her way towards where she knew her family would be sitting. The smell of freshly baked bread filled her nostrils and she hurried gratefully into the kitchen, smiling at the woman who greeted her with a shout of ‘Marian, you’re home at last. Has the prime minister been keeping you busy all day?’

Marian nodded briskly as she stepped across the tiled floor to take a seat at her mother’s side. A bowl of soup was placed in front of her, complete with a few slices of bread and she tucked in gladly. “Too busy,” she replied with feeling, “too many telegrams. So little time.” She spoke lightly,  wishing to keep the  atmosphere as  pleasant as possible. She knew that the city’s newspapers were dishing out more than enough fear at the moment and she didn’t wish to add to it.

Across from Marian, Joshua  sat with his own empty soup bowl resting in front of him. The sandy haired young man was looking out of the window at the people hurrying home from a long day’s work, but his expression was one   of furvent expectation. He turned to face Marian as she spoke and she caught the look that her younger brother  aimed her way. She frowned. Joshua was one of those young men whom she fretted over the most.

“Has Hitler sent a reply to Chamberlain yet?” he asked, breaking through Marian’s thoughts, “has he decided to take over Czechoslovakia?”

Marian shook her head. “Not yet. They’re still debating over it. I think they’ll be debating over it for a long time yet.”

 Joshua scowled. “I think  for all intents and purposes, the debating needs to stop and stop now.” He frowned at his older sister, sizing up  the young twenty four year old woman with the long brown hair and  jade eyes who was giving  him the entirety of her concentration. “We need to take  Churchill’s advice and finish Hitler off  before he gets a chance to  walk into anyone else’s country.”

Marian had known that this was coming. Joshua had been reading through the newspapers for weeks now and as time had progressed, he had been taken over with what she liked to call the ‘Churchillian way of doing things.’ His fanaticism in this matter was what was slowly  dividing a family that had  been a solid and dependable part of Marian’s life for twenty three years. Marian and her mother, two radical appeasement supporters, stood  firmly  at one side of the  political fence and Josh stood at the other,  proudly holding his banners high and proclaiming  Winston Churchill to be right in all things. In the middle stood Marian’s father, fearful for the future and not caring too much about which political side won the debate over Czechoslovakia. Marian’s father had been through and faught in the previous war, a war that had brought Britain and many other nations to their knees. He had no interest in politics. The only thing he wished to know was that war would not prove to be the result.  

“Hopefully, we won’t need to  take part in an all out war with Hitler, Josh,” Marian’s mother said patiently, trying to bring their  conversation to an end despite  her son’s  scowl.

Josh was not  at all convinced. “But  everyone needs to  understand that appeasement isn’t going to work,” he said in  an earnest tone that Marian had heard before but still  hated to hear, “Hitler won’t give up. Everyone should know that.  Hitler will never give up. Never.” He  slammed a fist down onto the table and spoke the words that both women  had been frightened  he would say. “If  Churchill had his way and we went to put a stop to Hitler and those fashists, I would be glad to  go and serve in the army that would bring Hitler down. I’m telling you  that.”

 The passion in that statement was as undeniable as it was frightening and in that moment, Marian knew that  he meant it hole heartedly. Many men did,  she suspected.

Her mother’s upset voice rang through the kitchen as she turned her anger on her son. “Josh!” she  said in a   tone of desperation that Marian had never  heard before, “don’t say things like that. Don’t let your father hear you saying that. He lived through the Great war and trust me, son, you don’t want to live through what your father lived through. He still has nightmares about it, you know. Twenty years after the Great War ended, he’s still struggling with what happened. I do not want my only son ending up fighting in a trench somewhere, so don’t you ever let me hear you talking of going to war again.”

The little group at the table lapsed into silence and Marian slowly resumed her supper, mind realing and head pounding with an ache that she knew would accompany her long into the night.  

Joshua sat in sullon silence, his soup bowl resting in front of him and his eyes determinedly avoiding those of both his mother and his older sister. The tention  within the room was steadily rising and Marian ate quickly, hoping  that she  would be able to escape to her room before  tempers had a chance to explode a second time.

Marian’s eyes burned with the sudden salty sting of unshed  tears, and she dropped her head, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the bowl in front  of her. ‘Damn this Czech crisis,’ she thought furiously, clenching her jaw and  forcing the   tears  away, ‘damn this whole thing.’ The Czech crisis, a crisis that in the prime minister’s opinion should not involve Britain,  was tearing families apart. The newspapers were showing impressionable people  like Joshua that to end the feuds with Hitler in a militaristic fashion would be a positive  plan of action, and those who didn’t agree were slowly being crushed by fear. Hitler was  having a great deal of influence over people hundreds of miles from  Germany. These people weren’t even involved in the third  Reich or the   Nazi party, and he was  already instilling  uncertainty in their hearts.

She had thought that relative  ignorance was bliss. She had always been told that to know little about a situation could bring one a sense of  peace, and she had never been inclined to agree with them. But Marian was believing it now, alright. Working in Whitehall as close to the PM as she worked meant that she was privy to every scrap of information that was available to the British government. She wished that she could have remained in the dark over the Czech crisis. Being open to every piece of information also meant that she had a few ideas as to how this issue would conclude. None of the proposed outcomes were very positive, and every one of them frightened her.

 A SHRILL RINGING FILLED the ears of everybody sitting at the table and Marian’s mother jumped up, giving Joshua a dark look and Marian a head shake before racing from the room and disappearing into the hall. In moments, she reappeared, giving Marian a nod. “It’s for you, dear,” she said quietly, “the prime minister wants  everyone back at number 10. He’s got to speak to the cabinet and  he wants his secretaries to take  minutes. The  people at Number 10 want you there right away.”

Jumping up  and offering her  mother a quiet murmur in response, Marian hurried to the door and left the Fletcher family dwelling.

The streets  seemed to be  too  empty as Marian hurried across to    Westminster and down to Number 10.  She   had rarely set foot in the cabinet room of downing street and had seen the   Prime Minister in person even less. Now that she was walking towards the doors  of what was   essentially Neville  Chamberlain’s house, she felt a twinge of nervousness   twisting her gut. Cabinet  meetings were rarely called  this late in the evening. If Mr Chamberlain had indeed called everyone in the cabinet to the room, that could mean only one thing. The meeting was to be a serious one.

Marian walked into the lobby of Number 10 and was instantly  assaulted by bustle and noise. Men and women were milling around the grand  Georgian entrance hall and  she thought that she knew less than half of them. At the far  end of the room, Marian could  distinctly see the tall and rather imposing  figure of sir Humphrey Appleby, a man who had a reputation for being a difficult person to work with. Beside him, she saw a man that she knew  by sight but had never spoken to. Bernard Woolley’s face was pale and he looked  from this distance  to be tense and irritable. Indeed, Bernard appeared to look how Marian was feeling. Both Bernard Woolley and Sir Humphrey  looked to be talking in low voices and trying to ensure that no one else heard their   conversation. Bernard and Humphrey’s faces mirrored the faces of everyone standing around her. Marian could feel the sharp sense of anticipation in the air. Everuone was nervous. No one was sure what Neville Chamberlain was going to say but everyone was sure that whatever he was going to say was not going to be good.

Marian stood alone   in the midst of the  noise and tention, and as soon as the door to the cabinet room opened, emitting a glow of  light, the people in the entrance hall began to dispurse. Marian lingered in the hallway until most of the cabinet ministers and secretaries had  disappeared into the room and as she stepped forward,  she found herself  walking beside  Bernard as he too crossed the threshold.

“What do you think  the PM’s going to say?” the young man asked out of the corner of his mouth, aiming an uncertain look at Sir Humphrey’s back.

Marian shook her head, suddenly overwhelmed by the  situation she had found herself in. “No idea,” she said in a low voice, “but I’m guessing we’ll find out soon  enough.”

Together,  Marian Fletcher and Bernard Woolley took places at the back of the cabinet room, each picking up  a pen and preparing to take the minutes of what was to be a  meeting full of surprises.  


	3. Chapter three: Bernard.

16 September, 1938.

Midnight had come and gone by the time Bernard Woolley returned to his darkened house, walking up  the driveway and stepping gratefully into the hallway, glad  to be away from Number 10 for the moment.

His head was swimming with the excessive amount of information that had been layed upon the cabinet  room table that evening.   Relief had settled over him so quickly that Bernard felt a bit light headed as he walked through  the silent coridors of his house.  The  cabinet meeting that had taken  place under such worrying  circomstances seemed to have gone better than anyone had  hoped, although considering that no one’s hopes had been particularly high, that wasn’t saying very much.   

Bernard sank gratefully into bed that night, closing his eyes and allowing his mind to  drift.  And drift it did, towards all things Nazi Germany. Hitler, the Czech crisis, the turmoil that the government and the Prime Minister were trying to work out and the   rising tentions within the country were all discussed in equal measure and  no one had seemed able to reach  an  agreement over any of those issues, at least until the  Prime Minister had taken  matters in hand.

“I have a great deal to discuss this evening gentlemen,” Neville Chamberlain had told the cabinet room at  large as everyone had settled in for   the political slog, “but the most important issue  on the agenda this  evening is the Czech crisis.”

Everyone had nodded. They had known that to be true. Hitler and the Nazis were on the  minds of every person in  Britain after all. What else would Chamberlain have wished to talk about? Bernard had taken up a pen and a piece of paper, and prepared to take notes on whatever Prime Minister Chamberlain wished to say, though he dreaded what he would have to write.  

The prime minister had had a lot to say on the subject of the aforementioned Czech crisis. He had flown to Germany himself that very day to meet with Hitler to discuss the situation that was blanketing the   nation in fear. Hitler had made his demands, and had made them very clear to Mr Chamberlain in that moment. He wished to bring the Sudetenland into the territory of the German Reich, but the Prime Minister had already decided that Hitler’s many demands  were not to  lead to war.  Chamberlain had already known what he wanted to happen.

“I had never flown before in my life,” he said to the cabinet at large upon the commencement of their meeting, “but I felt that I needed to meet with Hitler to try and negociate a peaceful settlement with him. I was willing to do anything to prevent this country from going to war.  I did not and still do not believe that Hitler wishes to go to war, but I do recognise that Britain needs to feel secure in its position”

The ministers and secretaries around the table had listened in silence as Neville Chamberlain had talked openly of his meeting with Adolf Hitler. Bernard wrote quietly, listening to what the Prime Minister was saying and privately wondering at the PM’s shere nerve in coming face to face with the leader of the Nazi party. He certainly would not have been brave enough to confront Hitler in person. Mr Chamberlain clearly had more guts than Bernard had previously given him credit for.

“Hitler was determined  to make the Sudetenland part of the Reich,” Chamberlain was  saying now, “and I decided, in the interest of all, that Hitler should be allowed in principle to bring the Sudetenland into the Reich without any retaliation from Britain. I cannot say at this moment in time what the president of France says on the matter, but that is the situation from our point of view.”

A silence of the rather heavy kind descended upon the gathered company. Bernard paused in his writing, as did all of the secretaries. Some were apparently stupefied.

Bernard too had to admit to a certain level of stupification  on his own part. He had heard a great deal of talk recently about the Prime Minister’s beliefs  about the Sudetenland, but he didn’t think that Chamberlain would ever have decided to give the  Sudetenland to Hitler, and apparently without the consent of the Czechs themselves. It was beyond belief.

“Are you sure this was a good action to take, Prime Minister,” one of the cabinet ministers said in shock, “I mean, shouldn’t Czechoslovakia be consulted? And for that matter, if we have given Hitler the Sudetenland, won’t that offer him the opportunity to take over the rest of the country?”

Neville Chamberlain shook his head with a confident smile at the man who had just questioned his judgement. “I have Hitler’s word for it that the Sudetenland will be his final goal,” he replied calmly, “Hitler has told me that he will not proceed to bring any more land into the German Reich. He has also told me that he will postpone Germany’s militant take-over of the country. I have reason to believe him.”

Again, the room fell silent. Bernard lowered his head and continued writing without comment. It was not for him to reason how or why the government decided to do what they did. His task was to simply record the events and hope that the politicians knew what they were doing. He wasn’t at all sure, but what could he say.

It was apparent that some of the Prime Minister’s governmental advisors were unsure. “I don’t know whether we can trust a word Adolf Hitler says,” one man told Chamberlain darkly, “after all, he said he would stop with his plans for the expansion of Germany when he remilitarised the Rhineland two years ago. He didn’t of course. He then said he would stop with his expansion plans once he brought Austria into  the German Reich. He didn’t stop then either. Now we are expected to believe that he won’t take over any more land now that he has hold of the Sudetenland? How can we believe anything that the man says?”

Neville Chamberlain fixed the speaker with a stare and said firmly, “would you like to join Winston’s party? I’m sure he would be delighted to have you and I’m sure also that he will welcome your views.” He paused here and held eye contact with the man who had challenged him.  Chamberlain was not to be the first to look away. “Now,” he said to the room at large, “as I have said, I have agreed for Hitler to take control of the Sudetenland without reprisals from us. I intend to inform President Daladier of what Hitler and I have agreed.”

More descent from the ranks.

“Are you sure that you expect Mr Daladier to agree?” another minister enquired, shaking his head as he spoke, “the French are firm allies of Czechoslovakia. I don’t think he will be happy with Hitler just getting hold of the keys to the country. You know that the Sudetenland is a powerful part of Czechoslovakia.”

Chamberlain opened his mouth to offer another protest but before he could utter a silible, one of his cabinet ministers lept in to the fray to defend him. “The Sudetenland contains mainly a German speaking population,” he said loudly, “I think that there are a great number of Sudeten Germans who would like nothing better than to be part of Greater Germany again. Surely, if the Sudeten Germans wish to be part of the Reich, then we cannot disagree with that.”

A murmur of ascent around the room. The man had been correct of course. Some appeared to have forgotten that. The treaty of Versailles had split the Sudetenland off from the rest of Germany and many were sure that they had wished to become part of Germany once more, ever  since the treaty had torn them apart.

 Chamberlain nodded. “Inded,” he said in a tone of increasing confidence, “that was my opinion also. The people living in the Sudetenland area  are mainly  German  speakers and this was Hitler’s argument also. That was why I agreed to allow him to bring the Sudetenland into the German Reich.”

Bernard tried to ensure that his expression remained neutral. As a private secretary, it was not for him to take sides, but even he had to admit that the PrimeMinister was slowly winning him over. Chamberlain was  correct in theory. If the Sudeten Germans did wish Hitler to bring them into the German Reich, then who were they to deny them that  opportunity.  He had glanced to his left towards the dark haired woman sitting at his side. Marian  too  was  fighting to maintain a passive expression, but he  could have swarn that he had seen   a look of relief crossing  her face as the  Prime Minister’s words sank in.  Though Bernard had walked into that  meeting unsure of what to believe, he was slowly coming round to the idea that perhaps an appeasement plan would work.

Sir Humphrey appeared to have some ideas of his own. “I think that in all  probability,” he said smugly, “taking into consideration all of the  crutial factors taken into consideration with regards to the Czech crisis and the Sudetenland, that  the Prime Minister’s  ideas and suppositions about Hitler’s take over of the  German speaking  population of the aforementioned strip of Czechoslovakian land  are in fact, not  entirely incorrect.”

Mr Chamberlain allowed for only a momentary  pause before replying. “Thank you, sir Humphrey,” he said happily, “you have  summed  this situation up as  concisely as possible, I think.”

Bernard tried not to laugh. Sir  Humphrey was the master in hiding the truth behind a lot of woffle  and he had  done this quite well here. Bernard thought that he  had caught the man’s meaning despite the lengthy way in which Sir Humphrey had declared it. Long years of   experience with Sir Humphrey and his  ramblings had prepared Bernard for such an eventuality and he added at the bottom of the page, ‘Sir Humphrey made a comment  expressing his agreement with Prime Minister Chamberlain’s views  on the  Sudeten problem.’

The atmosphere in the cabinet room of Number 10 seemed to have relaxed slightly and as the meeting drew to a close, it was clear that  the Prime Minister had managed to win over his cabinet, or the majority of it in any event.   Bernard wasn’t naïve enough to believe that everyone had been won over as he had been, but he knew that  Mr Chamberlain had at least managed to convince more than half of the  government’s cabinet that he had done the right thing. The tention had ebbed away and now it seemed that the Czech crisis was going to come to a satisfactory conclusion at last. It had  been a long time coming at no mistake.

At his side, Bernard heard Marian’s low voice as she said quietly, “it seems as if we will be able to reassure the public that all is well tomorrow. Don’t you think?”  

Bernard nodded. “We’ll certainly be able to give the British public some peace of mind,” he agreed fervently, “not before time either if you ask me.”

Chamberlain’s voice rose above the low murmuring of the  ministers and secretaries around him as he called everyone to order once again. “Do I take  it that we are all agreed?”

A rumble of ascent.

“Good. Now.” He turned to the  secretaries sitting at the back of the room. “I would like you to put out a press statement to the newspapers tomorrow stating that we have managed to reach a peaceful settlement with Hitler. I wish the public to be notified and reassured. Do this as soon as you come into work tomorrow so that we can make the morning newspapers.”

The low  murmur of ‘yes prime minister’ was uttered from the secretaries before  everyone stood up, preparing to depart gratefully to their beds.

 Bernard  gathered up his papers and waited until a number of the cabinet ministers had already exited the room. He wordlessly handed the papers to Sir   Humphrey as he passed and  followed on in the  older man’s wake. At last the meeting was over. He left the  clostrophobic cabinet room and sighed with relief as he stepped into the blessed cool of the lobby of Number 10. He made his way quickly for the exit, muttering  a quiet ‘goodbye’ to Marian before leaving the government building altogether.

The streets of Westminster were dead as he strolled up the roads towards his house and the bed that was waiting for him. He knew that only a few precious hours of sleep remained to him before he would once again have to be back at Number 10,  but he knew also that sleep  would not be very long in  coming. The tiredness  was seaping through his bones  and walking seemed to be more and more of an effort as he  approached his house. But  it was a pleasant tiredness. Bernard felt more content inside his mind than he had done in what felt like  months,  though in reality it had been a mere couple of weeks. Chamberlain’s nigociations with Hitler had been a success. In a few hours, the black cloud of trepidation that hung over Britain would be dispursed and all would be well.  


End file.
